


Assessing Damages

by edibleflowers



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:50:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment after the fighting to remember they're alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assessing Damages

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a gif on Tumblr that made me realize Natasha spent the whole final fight of the movie on an injured ankle. Total badass. Anyway, that made me decide I wanted to write a fic about it, and here it is.

Clint starts at her left ankle. It's been wrapped in a stretch bandage to keep her moving, but when he slips her boot off and unwraps the bandage, she makes an audible wince, her leg twitching away from him. He brings it to his lap again, gives her a firm look: _stay there_. He pushes up on the leg of the jumpsuit, rubs his fingers over the strong bone. Hard to believe it's been less than twenty-four hours since she incurred this, but the bruising is just starting to show. Bruised, but not broken.

Natasha peels off Clint's outer vest, shucking it from him to drop it to the floor, following it with the snug inner shirt. He's not cut or torn up, the vest protected against that, but she can feel where his back is sore, where he pulled the muscle when the line jerked and he flew through a plate-glass window. Heat, then ice for that.

He feels into her hair, checking the dried blood at her hairline. A thin, shallow cut of the kind that bleeds profusely and looks worse than it is; he'll clean that in the shower, but it feels like it's already healing on its own. His only concern there is infection. They both have bucketloads of ash and dust smeared into their skin from all the fighting.

She yanks his boots off, one and then the other, tossing them out of the way. His pants follow, leaving him in black boxerbriefs that bear the SHIELD logo (because they like to put their mark on everything). His left leg has a promising bruise down the shin, and he grunts when she runs her fingers over it, but she doesn't feel any unusual heat or strain.

He unbuckles her belts, setting the guns aside for later cleaning. Unzips her jumpsuit, takes her weight as she stands to peel it off. He can see bruises spreading on her ribs, flowering under the band of her practical sports bra: presumably from where the Hulk knocked her aside in the belly of the Helicarrier. When he touches her there, she shakes her head. _I'm fine_ , the gesture says, and he knows it to be true.

She runs her fingers through his hair, practical, feeling the bump where his head banged off the metal railing. Another mark on his cheek, faded red, from where she finished knocking him out. He catches her hand against his cheek, raising his eyes to her, and now it's his turn to give her that reassuring nod. He wouldn't be fine if not for her, and they both know it.

She sinks to him, then, heedless of injuries, of bruises and bumps and damage beyond the physical. He curls his arms around her, presses kisses to her disheveled, dusty hair. In a minute, no more, he'll get them up and into the shower to clean off. They'll bandage each other, like they always do, and then for a while they'll sleep the heavy, dreamless sleep they've earned. But for now, for just a few moments longer, they indulge in this necessary comfort.


End file.
